


Chrysalis

by merrythoughts



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bad Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Murder, Murder Husbands in the making, Steter Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:22:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28254585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts
Summary: Loss has wrapped its treacherous tentacles around Stiles, but Peter understands loss. He understands that simplytalkingabout said loss is not any acceptable fix, but action, revenge—Yes,revengeis a viable option to take.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 13
Kudos: 280





	Chrysalis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rightsidethru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightsidethru/gifts).



> Written for tumblr's [2020 Steter Secret Santa](https://stetersecretsanta.tumblr.com/) event, here you go **ridesidethru!** I hope you enjoy this humble little offering. Happy holidays! ☃️
> 
> I was pleasantly surprised when my giftee mentioned liking such things as Hannibal and murder husbands! I feel like I lucked out. I wanted to write a lot more, but school and motivation strangled me. 🥴 Perhaps I'll get another chapter or epilogue out at a later date, we shall see.
> 
> & thanks @ ReallyMissCoffee for the support/quick editing/Peter-proofing. Any mistakes are my own.

The shadows almost kill his light, but Peter's not about to let that happen. He remembers how Stiles used to be before Scott failed to protect his father.

Stiles had been quick-witted and spunky. Chatty and curious. Clever and resilient. Sometimes also annoying, but Stiles could also veer into the impressive which is noteworthy given the average intelligence of those around Stiles Stilinski.

Stiles had been many things, not all of them wholly appealing, but that's quite all right with Peter. Besides, there's no fun to be had in perfection or simple docility.

But now Stiles is more of a former husk of himself – quieter and directionless – and Peter doesn't care for it one bit. He misses the spark, that vivid burst of unapologetic personality with occasional flares of intelligence.

He's always smelled _magic_ on Stiles, too. An undercurrent of a tickling spice hidden by typical teenage hormones and sweat. Naturally, Deaton said nothing of it to Stiles, preferring to keep secrets and the other wolves are far too wrapped up with their own petty drama to notice. While werewolves aren't necessarily _fond_ of magic — Peter included — magic is also power. He has a few aged, faded books that he ought to take a gander at, to peruse and find his own answers.

Loss has wrapped its treacherous tentacles around Stiles, but Peter understands loss. He understands that simply _talking_ about said loss is not any acceptable fix, but action, revenge—

Yes, _revenge_ is a viable option to take.

Claws ripping through Kate Argent's wretched throat, hot blood gushing over his hands. Yeah, Peter still remembers that sense of justified _rightness_ sliding into place when her useless body slumped to the floor, another body added to the old Hale house's count.

Revenge is focusing. Directing. Empowering. It might be just the thing that Stiles needs to perk back up.

Peter does what he does best, he concocts a plan.

* * *

Reeking of poor misery and self-care, Stiles' shrinks in on himself, clothes hanging off his diminished form. It's a pathetic sight, but Peter doesn't remark on it as there's no need. He has Stiles here, he has his plan, his plan will usher in change, and that's all that matters.

Chained up in an abandoned building is a snarling, rabid omega – _the_ very omega that Scott failed to take care of. That won't be a problem anymore. As Peter is competent and capable, he'll ensure that this issue is _properly_ taken care of now. He may not be an alpha anymore, but that doesn't mean that Peter doesn't possess the necessary skills to lead.

So, he leads Stiles, hand firm on his lower back. And Stiles lets himself be led, head tipped down, scuffed sneakers shuffling along. The kid only starts to wake up when they enter the large abandoned room and there, shackled up to a concrete support beam, is the poor pitiful creature that needs to be put out of its misery.

"Peter...?" Stiles asks, voice cracking from disuse as his steps slow, but he does keep moving forward, as if compelled.

A small, content smirk twitches on Peter's lips. Whether it's bravery, curiosity, sheer stupidity, or a mix of all three, Stiles isn't hiding and Peter knows he was right. Stiles is strong enough to do this.

"Yes, Stiles?"

"What… _Who's_ —?"

"You know _what_ it is," Peter answers simply, coming to stand next to Stiles as he stops about fifteen feet away from the omega.

It has the same piercing blue eyes that Peter has – _guilty_ eyes – but they're unfocused and wild, pupils darting this way and that way. It's snarling, frothing saliva tinged red as fangs bite into lips and tear up chapped skin there. Truly, a wretched sight. Although the omega may be shorter and smaller, it still has the strength and speed of a werewolf, made only worse by being without a pack and having the benefit of lost humanity. The stench of its bloodied and filthy clothes tickle at Peter's nose hairs. The sooner this nasty business can be taken care of, the better.

"It's the omega that needs to be put down," Peter continues calmly, blue human eyes looking at the creature waiting. "Sick and rabid creatures must be dealt with before they… well, we know what they can get up to..." As if to help prove his point, the omega attempts to lunge out at them, chains and shackles clanging. It growls before gagging on its own spit, bloodthirsty but dumb.

Understandably, Stiles jolts and Peter crowds in closer. But to Peter's surprise, Stiles doesn't focus on the omega's act of aggression. Instead, Stiles' head whips up to stare at him, eyes wide as his magnificent mind tries to connect the dots.

"You're going to kill it?"

 _Yes_. There it is. A spark of life returning to Stiles, and although he won't be able to comprehend the vicious pride reflected in Peter's eyes, it's there nonetheless.

As much as he wants to, Peter doesn't smile. Now's not the time. Not when everything's hanging in the balance, this perfect electrified moment where Stiles can _finally_ come into himself, where he can claim his power and presence, and who better to coax and herald in a metamorphosis of sorts than Peter Hale?

"No, Stiles, _you_ are," Peter corrects, soft but insistent. There's no need to be pushy about this.

And while there's confusion playing out on Stiles' features, Peter's confident that Stiles will be more than able to manage it.

Stiles doesn't disappoint him. He listens and takes to his magic, to his _power_ beautifully. He embraces revenge like an old friend, seeing it to the end, doing what must be done— what _should_ have been done weeks ago.

Afterward, all that is left is a charred corpse, singed chains and shackles on the ground. Stiles' normally dark brown eyes are lit up with flecks of brilliant, flickering amber. The scent of earthy magic overpowers everything else undesirable. Power crackles in the air, emanating from Stiles himself, and the threat of it has Peter's metaphorical hackles raising, but he doesn't let his fear dig its claws in. That Stiles' skin gives off a warm glow that is reminiscent of flames is ironic, possibly unfortunate given Peter's history, but fire also brings rebirth.

Peter is a witness to Stiles breaking free of a chrysalis of normalcy to become something _more_.

That it was _him_ who provided this opportunity and illuminated Stiles' vast potential has a bond forming between them. With proper care and attention, that bond will only strengthen.

A powerful ally is nothing to scoff at, and if the chips fall as they will, perhaps more.

So, Peter praises Stiles, tone warm and pleased as his hands come to Stiles' shoulders, his grip reassuring but still light.

Stiles stands up straighter, bright eyes narrowing in consideration. Peter basks in the fierce intelligence that's reflected back at him, his own eyes lighting up in response. Peter may have had a plan, but he's no fortune teller, there was no way he could foresee what would happen _after,_ what happens _now._

Stiles' hands reach up to grab onto his wrists, and to his surprise, it's not in an attempt to push him away. Stiles merely grasps, holding onto him. Peter can work with this.

"Yes, Stiles?" he encourages, ever the picture of being receptive and present. Peter can't deny his own flare of interest at what may unfold here. Control may be a powerful drug and clearly his preference, but the right kind of disarray? A little chaos? That's simply fun that must be indulged in from time to time. Stiles would, undoubtedly, make that fun all the more enjoyable.

"Now what?" Stiles asks, his voice more mischievous than lost, and it coaxes Peter to step forward, lessening the distance between them.

"As far as I'm concerned, the world's our oyster."

Beacon Hills was once his home, but loss has a way of dampening sentimentality. Peter imagines that Stiles would agree with him. There's no compelling reason to stay here, not when they have options.

A snort, then, "that's a stupid saying."

 _Oh,_ yes, Peter's missed this – the quips and bantering. He squeezes Stiles' shoulders before leaning in, mouth hovering near Stiles' ear. Peter murmurs, "then perhaps you can decide where we go from here."

There's no mistaking the shaky exhale that Stiles gives or the excited flutter of his pulse.


End file.
